


rematch

by crystalcities



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Men's Football RPF
Genre: FC Barcelona, Flirting, M/M, Strip Games, actually a football fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 17:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19010485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalcities/pseuds/crystalcities
Summary: Max wants a rematch on FIFA with Frenkie after their Ziggo Sport special.





	rematch

**From:** Max Verstappen  
**To:** Frenkie de Jong  
**Subject:** rematch?

Rematch on FIFA? I’ll bring the cake. Don’t bring Matthijs. Max

 **From:** Frenkie de Jong  
**To:** Max Verstappen  
**Subject:** re: rematch?

You’re on. Frenkie xo

* * *

“What is this supposed to be?” Frenkie stuck a finger in the cake on Max’s kitchen counter. He squinted at the weird lines on top of the cake, and seemingly random patches of variously colored jelly.

“Black forest cake. I made it. And don’t touch it yet.”

“I mean what’s on top of it?”

“That’s a football, and that’s an F1 car. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Maybe you should have asked for help from Ziggo’s caterers. I agreed to play FIFA, not to get food poisoning,” Frenkie stuck his whipped cream-covered finger in his mouth, looking around the room. “Your apartment is a mess,” he added, not noticing, on purpose, the way Max looked at him as he made a show out of lapping the whipped cream off his finger, also on purpose.

“Fuck off,” Max rolled his eyes and gestured towards the living room, where the PlayStation was set up in front of the TV. “C’mon, let’s get started.”

* * *

“So, rules. We play two matches, away goal rules. So in the case we score the same number of goals, away goals count double...” Max began.

“I know how away rules work. Did you forget what I do for a living?”

“To make it more interesting, whoever concedes a goal has to remove a piece of clothing.”

Frenkie raised his eyebrows. He regarded Max, who was wearing a cap (even though he's indoors, couldn't explain F1 drivers...), t-shirt and jeans. Frenkie himself was dressed in a hoody, t-shirt and jeans so they seem comparably layered.

Max continued, looking at Frenkie seriously. “In addition to cake, the winner over two legs gets to do anything of his choice to the loser.”

“Okay, but again did you forget what I do for a living? And who won last time?”

“Your mind games do nothing,” Max scoffed, starting the game. He’s been practicing his FIFA skills since his public defeat. He picked PSV Eindhoven of course.

Frenkie picked Barcelona.

“What the hell?! That’s not fair,” Max protested.

“I’m officially a Barça player now. I don’t make the rules,” Frenkie replied smugly.

* * *

A third of the way into the first half Max scored. Bergwijn crossed the ball perfectly into the box, and Lozano headed it in. “So?”

Frenkie very slowly bent down and untied his left shoe, placing it neatly next to the sofa.

Max threw up his hands. “What the hell?!”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t ask me to take off my shoes when I came in,” Frenkie smirked in a very annoying way. He might also have winked. Max resolved to destroy him in the match.

Max scored the next three goals. Rosario with a volley from the right (right shoe), De Jong with an overhead kick (right sock), De Jong again with a header from a corner (left sock). Frenkie looked increasingly agitated as his defenders were useless to stop Max.

“This is impossible. The game is rigged,” Frenkie complained when the match ended.

“Just admit that I’m better than you at FIFA,” Max retorted. Frenkie looked about as dressed as he did when he came in despite losing 4-0, to Max’s irritation. Frenkie was completely missing the point!

“Maybe I’m losing on purpose so I don’t get food poisoning from your cake,” Frenkie flopped over on the sofa, putting his feet in Max’s lap and rubbed his heel on the inside of Max’s thigh suggestively.

“Get your naked feet off me,” Max shoved Frenkie’s legs out of the way and got up. “I need to pee before we play the second leg.”

“I thought you want me naked and that’s why we’re playing this game?”

“You’ll be naked by the end of this.”

* * *

Frenkie considered the match while Max was in the toilet. It’s impossible that Max got so good at FIFA since they last played! Or perhaps Frenkie was being overconfident? Speaking of being overconfident, Frenkie was convinced that the FIFA rematch was just an excuse for Max to get him in his apartment, but Max’s been ignoring all of his cues and was taking the match way too seriously. But it was Max’s suggestion to play strip FIFA? Either way his pride couldn’t deal with losing, so it's on.

* * *

Max looked at his reflection in the mirror. Frenkie’s absolutely playing hard to get and it’s infuriating. He suggested the rematch to get Frenkie alone in his apartment, and when Frenkie agreed immediately to play strip FIFA he thought he’s set. Why was Frenkie being so annoying?! _Calm down Max, you’re the one who suggested to play two legs. You’re obviously better than he was and there’s no way he could come back from 4-0, so just go out there and put the match to bed._

* * *

“Okay, are you ready to lose?” Max came back to the sofa, cracking his knuckles.

“We’ll see,” Frenkie said coolly.

Almost immediately virtual Jordi Alba cut back to find virtual Coutinho just outside the box on the left, and he banged it in, in the most signature Coutinho style.

“Yes!! You can’t leave Coutinho alone in that position, you know?”

Max took off his cap and threw it across the room.

Frenkie played with renewed energy, as if he’s got something to prove. His Messi kept trying to attack, but fortunately for Max his shots kept hitting the post. The next goal came when Max tried to maneuver his goalkeeper Zoet to save a shot from Rakitić, and ended up directing the ball into the goal instead. He groaned loudly, and took off his left sock, looking at Frenkie indignantly as he did it.

At 2-0 Max still had a good margin, but Frenkie’s attacks were relentless and the PSV defense was scrambling to keep up. Viergever took a risky tackle in the box on Suárez who had a clear shot on goal. Animated Suárez fell over. The referee called a foul. Animated Messi stepped up to take the penalty.

“That’s a dive!” Max exclaimed.

“No way,” Frenkie replied, and casually chipped it right in the middle as Zoet dived to the side. “Are you going to take off your other sock? Now we’re equals.”

“I’m still one goal up.”

“Doesn’t look that way for long, with the way you’re playing.”

Max took advantage of a moment when Frenkie was distracted by something to slam a goal home with Lozano. 3-1, and Max had a three goal margin now with the away goal. Frenkie stared straight into Max’s eyes, a smile playing at his lips as he unbuttoned his jeans and opened them enough so Max could tell that he’s not wearing any underwear, before doing them up again and took off his hoody instead.

“You’re so annoying!”

Frenkie was already back at the match, picking up the tempo, effortlessly working the ball up the field. Max wasn’t allowing him any openings, and he kept trying to find opportunities to counterattack, but Frenkie somehow seemed to always find a pass among his blaugrana players.

 _Just keep this up, he needs three more goals._ Max told himself, as the minutes ticked by. This was so far an unsuccessful game of strip FIFA, but at least he could salvage it by winning.

At the last minute Messi broke free to run towards the box, and was immediately tackled by four PSV players. The referee showed a yellow card and gave a free kick, just outside the box. Frenkie bit his lip in deep focus, before taking the shot. It curved perfectly over the wall, pass the goalkeeper into the corner of the goal. Frenkie jumped up and screamed. Max dropped the controller in disbelief. 

“That’s the GOAT for you! Come on, give me your shirt.”

Five seconds later virtual Piqué popped up out of nowhere next to PSV’s box to receive a pass from Messi, and Max’s defenders could do nothing as the center-back feinted right and scored with his left foot. 5-1, and Max was in dangerous territory.

“What’s he doing here? Isn’t he a defender??”

“Piqué is a box-to-box defender. Do you want to show me how to use your thermostat? I think you might be getting a bit cold without your jeans, soon.”

“I hate you,” Max replied, unbuttoning his jeans. Frenkie looked at him while he did it, raking his gaze down his body, and following every inch of newly exposed skin as he pushed them down over his hips, pulling them off over one leg then the other. Max felt himself blush, his skin heating up even as he broke out in gooseflesh all over. He was feeling very self conscious. At this point Max was still winning but what’s he going to ask for when the match is done? He didn’t feel like a winner, the way his match completely collapsed. On the screen, the referee called for extra time.

“Let’s get it done,” Frenkie said when he finally looked away from Max.

Max held on until the last second. Frenkie’s side was given a free kick, taken by Messi. It sailed over the wall as Sergi Roberto sprinted towards the goal, sending the ball into the back of the net with the tip of his right foot. The digital players celebrated the unlikely victory.

“I give up,” Max said, putting down the controller, resigned to completely lose his dignity and started to push the waistband of his underwear down. “Do what you want.”

Frenkie put a hand over Max’s. “Hey. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he said gently.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, and Max knew where they were heading towards. He grabbed a handful of the black t-shirt that Frenkie had annoyingly kept on all this time and pulled him towards himself, and kissed him full on the mouth.

“Finally,” Frenkie sighed into Max’s mouth, before returning the kiss passionately. They broke apart for a second for Max to pull Frenkie’s shirt over his head, and pressed their heated bodies together. Frenkie eased Max on his back, and rubbed his hands along the sides of Max’s torso as they kept kissing, Max arching into Frenkie’s touch. He stuck his hands into Frenkie’s back pockets, squeezing.

“What do you want to do?” Max whispered, his voice low.

Frenkie broke into a huge grin. “I don’t know. I thought you said there was cake?”

“I can’t believe I’m trying to hook up with you,” Max groaned, half pushing Frenkie off and rolling on his side. Frenkie laughed, and tried to trap Max in his arms again, kissing him all over while Max pretended to fight.

“There might be other uses for cake than just eating?”

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended viewing:  
> [Max and Frenkie (and Matthijs) play FIFA](https://youtu.be/aBxBp4QXxUQ)  
> [La Remontada (Barça-PSG 6-1)](https://youtu.be/VAkCW7ynhe0)  
> [Messi FK vs. Real Betis](https://youtu.be/Rae69lTBQSQ)  
> PSV fans, please forgive me! Culé here, and I’ve watched a whole bunch of your CL matches over the years and watched some highlights as research but I don’t know anything. Also, I’ve played FIFA like 3 times.
> 
> Finally, maybe I wrote this to relive la remontada, so I can take my mind off the garbage end of the season Barça is having...


End file.
